


Irresistible Force Paradox, or: The Desk and the Tennis Dress

by maenad9



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries, Phryne Fisher - Kerry Greenwood
Genre: Belts, Blindfolds, Cunnilingus, Deepthroating, Desk Sex, F/M, Foot Massage, Handcuffs, Light Dom/sub, Love Bites, Office Blow Jobs, Oral Sex, PWP, Resolved Sexual Tension, Roleplay, Stockings, Tennis, Tie Kink, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vaginal Fingering, over the trousers, this is so much hornier and kinkier than i intended
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2020-06-02 17:30:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19446226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maenad9/pseuds/maenad9
Summary: Jack and Phryne's sexual tension reaches its breaking point over the seemingly slight issue of her sitting on his desk. When in doubt, blame the dropwaist tennis dress.





	1. Distracted

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, so have mercy on me (it's probably purple prose...). More sexual content in later chapters!

The boxy, billowing cut of Miss Fisher’s tennis frock did nothing to hide her figure, thanks to its thin, white fabric. The afternoon sun backlit the lady's slim, delicately curved silhouette, streaming in through the small window behind her. The combination of material and lighting left little to Jack’s imagination— If Phryne didn’t leave his office soon, Jack wasn’t sure he’d be able to resist stripping the dress from her slender body, and discovering at long last what delights remained hidden from sight...

Jack cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Miss Fisher, if you please…” He gestured to the spot of floor above which her shoed and stockinged feet dangled in idle distraction.

“Yes, Jack?” She stilled, ceasing to tap the air with whatever jaunty tune must have been running through her head. “What is it?”

The inspector sighed, unable to keep his eyes from traveling north, past her crossed knees, to where her hem had ridden up and exposed the edge of one lacy garter. He’d already seen both today, truth be told, during their little tournament. Phryne had jumped high and wide to meet his ambitious serves. In fact, Jack had a theory that his losses on the green were due largely to the frequent and tantalizing glimpses he’d gotten of her upper thighs. Now, not for the first time that day, he wondered if she’d tailored the uniform with that exact strategy in mind…

“Jack?” Her gently inquisitive voice pulled him away from the dangerous image that had begun to form in his mind, of Phryne in French lingerie, instructing a seamstress as to the cut of the now infamous (to him, at least) tennis dress. Jack raised his eyes to meet hers, and she lifted a knowing eyebrow, presumably having watched him track the length of her exposed stocking in silence. She sounded uncertain, although her accent remained refined, elegant as ever— how _did_ the woman do it? How on earth did she maintain this irresistible, confounding sophistication?

Whatever the occasion— unsavory gossip, legal straits, _even enemy fire!_ — Jack knew from experience that he could count on Miss Fisher’s staying cool and collected. She was an exceedingly capable woman, and exquisitely dressed. Phryne cut a figure of effortless perfection, and carried with her an almost unconscious allure. Jack had to wonder— did her stunning self-possession extend to the bedroom?

Shaking his head to clear his mind, again, Jack swallowed hard and said in unintentionally husky accents, “Would you please remove your person from my desk?”

Her porcelain brow scrunched somewhat, and her lips pouted distractingly. Jack forced himself to avert his gaze. “But why?”

It was a fair question— midway through their first case, she’d taken to perching on the polished mahogany during debriefing or discussion. Sometimes she sat up there simply to share a drink with him, tugging open the lowest drawer with one exquisitely flexed foot to reveal the bottle of whiskey stashed there. She knew all his secrets, Phryne. _Maybe she even knew this one..._

In all this time, Jack had never once asked Phryne to desist. He’d always been aware of her proximity, its intoxicating effect far succeeding that of even Canada’s best bourbon, but he had hoped that by now he’d developed an immunity to her heady presence. Maybe seeing their picture in the papers, and reading the scandalous— not to mention libelous— gossip column attached had affected him. She’d suggested as much earlier that day, offering his flustered reaction up as a reason for his uncharacteristically poor athletic performance. _No, that wasn't why he'd failed to match her whiplash of a volley. Blame the dress, if you're going to blame an inanimate object for your suddenly unsurmountable lust, Jack..._

For whatever reason he chose (or did not choose) to admit, Jack's supposed immunity wasn’t protecting him anymore. Most days, Phryne was an unstoppable force— today, Jack would have to be the immovable object blocking her path to his seduction (intentional or incidental). That damned dress would _not_ be his undoing.


	2. Hemlines and Honest Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne loves foreplay, but three years and a hundred cases of it? It's time to take this flirtation to the next level. In order to do that, she needs to be sure of Jack's interest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! In the middle of a move, so I've been a bit preoccupied. Thank you all for the kind encouragement-- I hope you continue to enjoy my work.

“Miss Fisher…” Jack frowned, looking studiously down into his glass and not up into her face. When in the conversation had he switched from calling her by her first name? Phryne noted the formality with interest.

“Jack…” With mock solemnity she imitated his low, stern tone.

“Don’t _push_ me,” he growled, finally looking her in the eye. Phryne was forever startled by how bright a blue his irises were, icy in color yet always warm for her— not warm, but _hot_ tonight, fueled by whiskey and … _something_. Some feeling, at which she wouldn’t yet risk hazarding a guess. Still, that didn’t mean she was willing to let it go without eventually putting a name to it— quite the opposite, in fact. Solving mysteries was what Phryne did best, and her theory on this one was hardly difficult to test. All she needed to do was give him a little _push._ But how best to set the ball rolling?

She was still for a moment’s deliberation, cocking her head to one side. Phryne studied her partner’s expression carefully and, seeing his jaw clench in suspense, realized that her silence would only serve her purpose. Confident now in her plan, she shifted more of her weight back onto her hands, which were stretched out isosceles against the cool surface of the desk behind her. Never once taking her eyes off Jack’s, Phryne uncrossed her legs, savoring the subtle whisper of her stockings as they slid against each other. She allowed herself a little shiver at the sensation.

At _that_ his gaze darted away from her face— the movement was so sudden, she was certain it had been involuntary— and touched instead upon her legs. In one smooth motion, Phryne pushed herself forward so that her knees no longer touched the edge of his desk. Only her upper thighs rested on that smooth surface: bare beneath her dress, where her stockings ended, and ever so slightly agape.

Just then, a night breeze blew in through the open window, carrying with it the mundane murmurs of Melbourne night life. The hem of her tennis frock fluttered, the wind parting its heavy pleats. Jack’s eyes followed the fabric as it shifted to simultaneously expose and obscure her skin, before falling to fill the space between her pale thighs.

Within a moment, the little gust was gone— but the damage was done. Phryne watched out of the corner of her eye as the detective gulped, and a faint flush colored his high cheekbones. She felt a smile curl her own lips, like a cat who’d too easily gotten the cream. _Come on now, Jack, don’t make this too easy for me…_ It was torture, to be sure, but an exquisite one: seeing him react this strongly (if perhaps subtly, to an untrained eye) to her mere presence, as though her existence itself were a treat…

But Phryne wanted her inspector to inspect _her!_ She wanted Jack bad, and she’d waited nearly three years and a hundred cases for it— for _them_ — to happen. The long awaited last round of (fore)play had begun, and just like their earlier game of tennis, Phryne would see it through to a sweaty, heaving end.

Jack started to say something, but Phryne decided to take further control of the situation before he put a stop to her seduction. Quickly, she spread her legs even farther apart, so that the white fabric stretched taut across her thighs. Her movement interrupted his speech, and his eyes widened, his mouth going a bit slack, in reaction. All innocence, Phryne inquired, “See something you like, Jack?”

His eyes met hers in a millisecond, both pairs bright with pent up attraction. Sexual tension created electric currents in the air between them. Again, he began to speak— presumably to answer her question. Ostensibly listening, Phryne leaned back a little more on the desk and angled her body to face him. The hem of her frock caught on the edge of his desk, and its fabric was tugged up in waves until it just barely covered her garter. Phryne couldn’t have planned it better if she’d done it on purpose. Alas, command of the elements was not a skill of which she could boast possession. She grinned at Jack’s expression, his mouth hanging unconsciously— comically!— open. _Oh, how she longed for those lips…_

“Phryne…” he began in a hoarse voice. Then he seemed to run out of words, distracted by her very inviting position. He stared at her legs, then his gaze traveled north, taking in every inch of her body. He swallowed hard as his sight lingered at her breasts, bound as they were in a layer of soft ivory beneath her dress. Phryne arched her back just a little more, offering him an exquisite display of her carefully honed curves. Finally, his eyes met hers. And in their azure depths, she saw a hunger awakened that was far deeper, far wilder than even she, in her infinite fantasies, had imagined.

Jack was a stoic indeed, to have hid so intense an attraction from her for so long. He put the old philosophers to shame; he put Phryne herself to shame, she who had worked like the devil to batten down the raging desire that threatened their friendship from day one— not to mention their jobs… Clearly, Jack had hidden talents. He was a better actor than she’d given him credit for, even after she’d seen him take the stage so stirringly after Ruddigore. _What else was he good at_ , she wondered. _What other secret skills did the man before her keep under lock and emotional key…?_ Well, there was only one way to find out the full extent of his feelings for her, and Phryne wasn’t one to shy away from the truth, however incendiary it proved to be.

Phryne met Jack’s gaze directly, matching its blazing heat. For a long moment, she let her guard completely down, let him like a Trojan in. She gave him the chance to see her for who she was and what she wanted— Phryne let surface her best-kept secret: her own brazen lust for him.

And comprehending that, Jack cracked.

“I can’t keep doing this, Phryne.” His voice was harsh with hunger, hoarse with need. “I can’t lie to myself, or you, any longer.” Jack stared deep into her dark eyes, as if he were willing her to understand his intentions. Luckily for the both of them, Phryne knew exactly how he felt— she felt it too.

Grinning, she stage-whispered, “Well, what are you going to do?” Phryne punctuated the question, her knowing invitation, with a flex of her right thigh. The tennis dress scrunched further up her leg, lacking the stretch to accommodate this new, even wider stance. Jack now had full view of her bare thighs, leading up to their even barer apex.

_Oh dear, was she devoid of the expected undergarments?_ Perhaps, Phryne mused with a wicked little smile, she ought to have told him that she never wore more than stockings to play tennis— and those, only to avoid sunburns and blisters. Phryne much preferred to be caressed, down there, as she danced across the court— by a cool breeze or (if she was lucky) a handsome man like the one still seated, practically slavering, in front of her.

Jack’s eyes fixed on the fashionably waxed apex of her legs. Phryne could feel herself growing wet with want under his gaze, her labia damp with delayed desire. She shifted slightly; as a result, the smooth swell of her uppermost thighs became sticky, now spread with her impatient body’s lubricant.

“Jack?” She repeated, her own voice beginning to sound breathless as her arousal increased. Concentrating on sounding coy, instead of desperate as she felt, she repeated his earlier command. “Would you still prefer that I… _remove myself_ from your desk?”

Jack’s visage darkened like a storm over the sea, brows pulling together with a knit intensity beyond his usual stern reproach. “Don’t play games with me, Miss Fisher, not now.” His fingers tightened on the hard wooden arm of his chair, and his entire body tensed in anticipation of something— but for all her proven deductive prowess, Phryne couldn’t determine _what_ precisely he was preparing himself for.

Loss, in the form of rejection, after he’d wordlessly shown her his heart-winning hand? (It wasn’t as though she hadn’t done the same mere minutes ago…) An angry, in-character reprimand that would have her running home for a lonely glass of whiskey? (Nothing like spirits to lift one’s spirits…) Or was this tension— that showed itself in his strained his neck and whitened knuckles, and in the tight line of his oh-so-kissable lips— a prelude to something wished for by the both of them? Something wanted, something needed, something _shared_ …

Would Jack be willing to risk his heart, for her?

“I’m not, Detective Inspector.” Her words came out a breathless whisper, her whole body attuned to the slightest shift in his posture. She felt like a woman on wire.

“Promise me, Phryne, promise me that I’m not just another in a long line of sheiks and suspects and painters and princes and—” 

Phryne cut Jack off, throwing her head back laughing at the last item on his list. Really, it was just like him to assume something like that. For heaven’s sake, she’d only ever _tangentially_ been involved with royalty! For a moment, Phryne was reminded of her brief acquaintance with the Prince of Wales, who, on his tour of Australia, had appeared juvenile and reckless— and besides which he was rumored to be bad in bed (to say nothing of his politics…). Naturally, she’d steered clear of the Windsors, having witnessed _that_ , and only ever socialized with the younger set and their friends when the occasion called for it. True, Freda Ward had been great fun, but only until the prince caught wind of their fling and demanded to join in— at which point, Phryne decided it was high time to take her bow and exit that mess of a court entirely.

An angry cough interrupted Phryne’s reminiscence. She straightened a little, refocusing her attentions on the stern face in front of her. Jack was wearing an all too familiar expression of censure. “As I was saying,” her detective ground out, “I will not be just another one of your idle amusements. I don’t mind that you’re a—” his face went a bit pink, “a woman of experience. I’ve told you that before, and I hope you believed me then. Your past doesn’t matter to me. But I don’t intend to fall, like the rest, into the pattern of it.”

Phryne nodded gravely, beginning to understand his suddenly short temper. Jack was _scared_. Scared that she’d forget him, or treat him flippantly, as she had indeed done many of her former paramours. But that was _different_. Those affairs, those men and women, had been different. For a variety of reasons, she supposed, but the primary being that none of them had been _Jack_.

“So promise me, Phryne. _This_ —” he gestured to the foot and a half separating them— “isn’t _that_.”

Mesmerized by his crystal-bright eyes, which had caught and held hers once more, Phryne nodded and repeated after him, meaning every syllable of the statement: “This isn’t that. I swear.”

Jack studied her for a long moment, sitting back in his chair. Then, suddenly, his expression changed— the storm clouds seemed to have cleared. Unreadable as ever, Jack nevertheless appeared to be satisfied with her answer. Phryne darted a curious glance at his clenched hand, only to find his palm relaxed against the wood, his strong fingers curling gently around its curve. When her gaze returned to his face, Phryne found Jack engaged in another survey of her body— which remained brazenly, teasingly open to him. One corner of his mouth twitched in a sly smile as he studied her bare flesh beneath the tennis dress.

Phryne felt herself blushing at the intimacy of his gaze, and could only assume the flush was spreading beneath her skirts, as well. She had forgotten how exposed she was, had lost awareness of herself physically even as she’d lost psychological control of whatever was happening between them. It was supposed to have been _his_ seduction, not _her_ intense and solemn interrogation! But one smug glance from Jack and she realized she wasn’t the one calling the shots, not anymore.

Another cool breeze floated in the open window, fluttering her skirt and bringing to her attention just how wet she’d grown— and from his earnest entreaties and eye contact _alone_ …

Phryne brought her eyes back up to Jack’s face, and he followed suit, trailing his gaze like a physical touch, fingertips gently dragged lightly along the skin. She shivered, in spite of herself, and Jack’s smirk spread into a small, knowing smile. Damn him, he knew _precisely_ what effect he was having on her. And here Phryne had assumed that _she_ was the more skilled seducer of the two…

“Tell me you want this, Phryne.” His voice was deep, hypnotizing. She nodded, drowning in that brilliant blue. “I want to hear it, Phryne.” He wielded her name like the softest of feathers, stroking the most erogenous aspects of her psyche.

Her words came out on a sigh that ended on a low moan. “I want this, Jack. I want _you_.”

Their gazes locked for one long second, during which Phryne could see a thousand emotions, thoughts, and fantasies swirling in his eyes’ cerulean sea— no doubt her own, unguarded, openly displayed her matching feelings and overwhelming need. But for that stretched second, neither one of them moved— not even, in Phryne’s case, to breathe.

The station clock chimed eight. Jack’s eyes narrowed. Not in censure, but with something akin to a hunter’s satisfaction, on having finally cornered his prey. All that tension in his body didn’t disappear, but converted from anxious frustration to hungry anticipation. Phryne swallowed, hard. _Check._ Never, in her fabled history of love affairs, had she found herself so close to being in over her head.She had better take back control of the situation before she melted to a puddle on top of his paperwork.

Suppressing the urge to squirm under his heated stare, which was working all sorts of mischief below the belt, Phryne moved to temporarily evade his inevitable _Checkmate_.She forced herself to relax as before, mind and body, and affected her hallmark flirtatious air.

“Now that that’s settled,” she began, her voice a mere approximation of her playfulness. “What do you intend to do about _this_?” She swung her right foot, closest to him, gently forward so that it came to rest at the dead center of his chest. Phryne pressed, ever so slightly.

Jack’s eyes widened, and a fire seemed to light in them. Swiftly, his left hand darted up from his lap to take hold of her ankle. In one, agonizingly slow movement, he slid his hand up her stocking and squeezed the thickest part of her slim, yet muscular, calf.

“I intend,” he uttered, strained desire behind every word, “to make you mine, _Miss Fisher_.”

Phryne’s mouth popped open in surprised delight. A small part of her had been expecting him to cop out, pun intended. She hadn’t been sure if Jack was the kind to enjoy a slow and climbing seduction. But the man was full of surprises. It would appear that they were now in competition, as though they’d added a twist to their weekly game of checkers: who could make the other falter, jelly-limbed and mind-blown, first? Well, Phryne never backed down from a challenge. Neither (fortunately or unfortunately for her, she wasn’t sure) did Jack. And at the moment, he quite literally had the upper hand…

Jack’s other arm reached for her waist, tugging her swiftly down the desk until she was seated directly in front of him— her legs straddling the chair in which he sat, dress shoved high around her hips. _Now_ , Jack had full view of her. _Now,_ they had crossed a line that could not be uncrossed. The detective surely realized this, but he didn’t seem to care. (He didn’t seem to care about the paperwork that was now strewn across his desk and office floor, either.) Jack simply started the work of unbuckling her tennis shoes, tossing one and then the other to the floor, not once taking his eyes off of her.

Too mesmerized by her partner’s movements to be quite conscious of her own, Phryne flexed her toes and rolled her ankles in relief, her feet glad to be free of the low heels. At the same time, their removal made her inexplicably nervous. She had done a great many wild and wicked things in her life, enough and of a kind to make Casanova blush. But she had never felt _quite_ so exposed as she did now, perched half-naked on Jack’s desk with him beginning to undress the rest of her. Instinctively, she started to close her legs, effectively shielding her innermost self from his eyes— but the detective would have none of that, and Phryne thanked heaven for him…

“Growing modest in our debauchery, Miss Fisher?” He arched one thick brow skeptically. “Now _that_ I can’t allow…” Quick as lightning, he reached out and placed one large hand on either knee, halting her movement. Then, with gentle but firm force, he pushed her legs wide open again, farther apart than ever before. The night air simultaneously soothed and teased her damp, swollen lips.

“Now stay put,” Jack commanded, swirling his left thumb irresistibly over the inside of her right knee, “or I’ll have to restrain you.”

Phryne’s breath quickened, images of handcuffs and silk ties and repurposed sports equipment flashing excitedly through her head, but she nodded and resolved not to disobey him. There would be time enough for such toys later…

Jack trailed his hands down the backs of her calves, caressing her legs through her stockings. Phryne shivered at the sensation, and mourned the loss of hands, whose heat and light calluses had felt like heaven, filtered teasingly through the fine weave, when he finally let them fall away. Phryne couldn’t help herself— she pouted.

Noticing her slump slightly, Jack looked up at her and laughed. “Come now, Miss Fisher,” he said with a smile. “You didn’t think I’d make it easy for you, now, did you?” Without waiting for her reply, he turned his attention to his shirtcuffs. With deft, practiced movements, he began to unbutton first one, then the other. Turning his face up to watch her watching him, Jack grinned properly, then began rolling his sleeves up in quick turns. Phryne admired his forearms, lean but muscular, feathered with a light layer of hair (gold, in the lamplight), and the impressibly neat job he’d done on his sleeves— considering that he hadn’t paused once to examine his handiwork.

Jack stretched his neck, rocking his head from side to side, then flexed his arms. Before Phryne had a chance to ask what he had planned for her— although she had her suspicions, and _hoped_ she was correct in them— Jack winked. Then he rolled his chair closer to the desk, close enough for her dangling thighs to brush up against the hard and cool wooden edges of its arms. She gasped a little at the much-craved contact, then blushed at her own reaction.

Jack’s grin turned a little bit wicked, as he once again grasped her legs and pulled her still closer to him. Phryne had to sit up straight, and grip the edges of the desk for fear of falling off it and onto him. Not that that would be _such_ a bad thing… Just a tad undignified.

“Now then, Miss Fisher,” he murmured, his ice blue eyes holding her own for a beat, before drifting down her body. “Where were we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, I swear, we will have some proper action! (Can you spell c-u-n-n-i-l-i-n-g-u-s? ;P) This fic, like their relationship, just needed to simmer a bit before being brought to boil.


	3. The Rule-Making before the Rule-Breaking...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's finally got Phryne where he wants her-- physically, at least...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive any historical inaccuracy, especially re: clothing. I've tried to avoid any obvious mistakes, but I may have smudged some minor facts for added ~sexiness~. Quick content warning: this chapter got a bit dom/sub-y, of its own accord. I didn't plan it that way but it just sort of happened, as Jack let loose. We'll see how much that carries over into later action... And please forgive the delay!

Jack almost wished Miss Fisher were wearing undergarments, so that he could have the pleasure of watching them flutter in the light breeze, before stripping them from her with his teeth. However, he was enjoying his current view far too much too complain— besides, he still had her stockings to remove… Just not yet. 

Jack wanted his partner dressed for what he had planned. All those light and heavy fabrics, caressing and enclosing her limbs; that luxurious mix of textures, abrading her skin as he stroked her to oblivion… Not to mention, the exquisite torment they would experience, together, as his ministrations brought them closer to the peak of her pleasure. Craving freedom from the layers that separated their bodies, prevented their more perfect union. Crying out in search of the elusive, increasingly vital sensation of skin against soft skin. He’d give her a taste of the latter while he tasted her, but no more. 

No, Jack knew exactly what he was going to do, now that Phryne had given him permission to act on the cravings that had eaten away at him for the past three years. He knew just what cruel, erotic torture to which he’d first subject Miss Fisher. After all, he’d been practicing— in his mind and on the bodies of various anonymous, amenable women. Jack had long prepared for this moment, although he’d always considered those (literally) cheap thrills a stand-in for the unattainable. You see, he never thought he’d find himself in this position: looking deep into those dark almond eyes, pleading; seeing those cherry lips shape words of consent, enthusiastic and needy. Jack had never imagined that Phryne would be interested in him for anything other than her usual teasing flirtation.

But his fantasy had suddenly turned reality, and Jack intended to ensure that hers, whatever it turned out to be, would spring to life equally.

Realizing that he’d been musing in silence for much more than a beat, Jack cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak. Phryne interrupted him before he could get half a word in, naturally.

“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” Her tone was more timid than he’d ever heard it, and Jack noticed faint wrinkles forming on her forehead— worry marred the unpowdered porcelain of her skin. But what was she worried about? Jack had never met a person, of any gender, who didn’t eventually succumb to her otherworldly allure. He’d been the first, that he’d witnessed, to fall prey to her lips’ plump curve and the invitation hidden in her words. And at the time, she’d been an impediment to his case, a civilian thorn in his side— not yet a colleague, a drinking partner, a dearest friend. So how could she possibly doubt his desire for her, now, after everything that had happened to them, with all the bonds strung strong between them? 

She was Cleopatra, and he her adoring Antony. He’d throw Rome to the crows, just to kneel at her feet. Surely, surely she knew that. And if she didn’t… well, he’d just have to tell her— in ways, not words. Because right now? She was Miss Fisher to his Detective Inspector. And he would brook no self-doubt, which he counted as disobedience, while they stayed in these roles. 

Phryne swallowed uncomfortably, betraying her rare vulnerability further. Jack tracked the movement down her delicate throat, his eyes trailing south to the angular neckline of her tennis dress. She started to shift, attempting to extricate herself. Absently, Jack thought as he followed the resulting stretch of fabric across her breast, he would have none of that. 

“Perhaps I had better finish my nightcap at home. Mr. Butler will be waiting for me and Dot, well, Dot will worry—” 

Jack lifted his head sharply and looked straight into her eyes, dark as Turkish coffee and round with unfounded insecurity. He’d allowed himself to be distracted by her décolletage for less than three seconds and in that time Phryne had already broken character. “Miss Fisher,” he began abruptly, cutting her off before she invented some new nonsense. “Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?” 

Phryne froze, confusion muddling her features. She rarely appeared so adorably dazed, and Jack rather relished the sight. “I— Well— You, actually. Frequently, I might add…” She straightened a little, regaining some of her colour and composure. Jack smirked. 

“And yet you never seem to take heed.” He held up a hand as she opened her mouth, presumably to defend herself with some clever retort. “No, I’m not interested in your banter tonight, Miss Fisher, however stimulating it may be.” Jack paused, glancing at the clock, and added with some amusement, “As for your domestic concerns … you know perfectly well that Miss Williams doesn’t expect you home until at least three, on a Friday. And it’s well past your butler’s bedtime.”

A tilt of her head, so slight as to be involuntary, acknowledged the truth in his words.

“So why don’t we stop with the excuses. I want you. You want me. If that changes at anytime, I expect you will tell me. Immediately and without any fear or courtesy.”

She nodded, and Jack noticed her features had relaxed, almost entirely. 

“Good. Now stop fidgeting— or have you forgotten who’s in charge here?”

She looked taken aback at that, but made no response. His voice dropped into a low murmur, and he leaned closer. “I repeat: have you forgotten who’s in charge, here?” When she was slow to answer he place one hand in an iron grip around her ankle. 

“Don’t make me ask a third time, Miss Fisher. Or you won’t enjoy what comes next.”

Phryne gulped, and then her left eyebrow lifted as if to challenge him— but she clearly thought better of that course of action and instead answered, “No, sir,” with feigned meekness. It was a start, Jack thought, but he’d turn her coquetry into genuine obedience before the night was through. Sooner, if they were to accomplish everything he had in mind.

“Don’t you want know, Miss Fisher, what I intend to do with you?”

He could practically feel curiosity radiating off of her, like heat on a Sydney sidewalk in summer; it was written all over her pixie-like features, and in the taut lines of her posture. Jack suspected it might be easier— and more pleasurable— for Phryne if he took charge of the situation. She was nervous, for all her flirtation, far too nervous to avoid making a muck of things. And Jack dearly wished to explore this new development in their partnership (not to mention, give her the pleasure she deserved) without damaging what already existed between them. In order to do that, Jack realized that he was going to have to establish some rules— and be prepared to enforce them. Phryne was not an obedient person by nature, the opposite in fact, but Jack had a feeling that as long as he kept her sated, sexually, she’d be quite content to listen to him… 

“To address your earlier concern,” he said in a clear and commanding voice. “No, I was not having second thoughts. My thoughts were entirely occupied by visions of your naked body, writhing beneath me.” She went quite pink at that and closed her mouth, which had hitherto been hanging open in an “o” of surprise and confusion. Jack spoke more softly now, peering intently into her the hot liquid depths of her eyes. “Are you?” 

He didn’t think she was, but it was important that he ask her now and in no uncertain terms. As she had, earlier, with him. 

“If you say ‘yes,’ I will exit the room immediately, giving you plenty of time to collect yourself. I trust you are in fit condition to drive,” he added, nodding at the mostly full tumbler beside her. “I will not refer to this evening ever again, or demand an explanation for your departure. You can consider tonight forgotten, and rest assured that our partnership will continue as it was.” 

He paused significantly, praying silently that she was worrying her lip out of arousal and not indecisiveness. He wanted to feel those teeth on his skin, tonight. Even if she left marks his men would question in the morning. 

“If you are not having second thoughts, however, know nevertheless that you have only to say the words at any moment tonight, and I will stop whatever I am doing— the same conditions of silence, respect, and continued friendship will apply, whenever you decide to end this.” 

Jack spoke with more solemnity than he’d ever mustered, far more than he’d ever used to command or discipline her in the field. He trusted Phryne to communicate honestly, and hoped his earnest stare told her so. “Well, Miss Fisher? Are you having second thoughts?” She shook her head resolutely. “I need a yes or a no, Miss Fisher.” 

“No!” The word tumbled out of her mouth, breathlessly. “No, Jack, I—”

“Good,” he murmured, cutting her off once more. 

She appeared a little outraged at the repeated interruption, and opened her mouth to speak— but he stopped her again, this time with a stern look and a quick squeeze of her right calf. Phryne closed her lips tightly in growing ire. 

Excellent, thought Jack. He planned to stoke her passion, drive her mad with desire— as she had, him, for the past three years. Jack was going to push Phryne to the edge of ecstasy, again and again, keeping her there until she could bear it no more. And only then, when she was wild with need and begging him for release, would he give it to her. 

She must have seen his eyes darkening, the anticipation ripple across his expression, because she bit her lip again. Jack withheld a groan, wanting nothing more than to soothe the agitated flesh, that sensitive curve that so often moved to tease and torment him. But when he saw that Phryne remained silent and still, Jack felt a surge of satisfaction.

“You didn’t expect the night to take this turn, did you?” He asked, smugly. She shook her head, her expression alert, her wide eyes bright with intrigue. Jack could drown in those irises, two pale lavender rings that had thinned to mere slivers as her pupils dilated with desire. 

“For the next—” he pulled out his watch to check the off-white face, “thirty minutes, or until I give you leave to do otherwise, the only words that you are permitted to speak are ‘Yes,’ ‘No,’ ‘Stop,’ and ‘Please.’ Do you understand me?” 

“Yes.” Her answer came a second late, her speech slowed by realization as the nature of his plan dawned on her. Jack couldn’t tell if her reaction was positive or negative— her expression was briefly unreadable. 

“I expect a prompt response, Miss Fisher. Let’s try again.” He paused, returning the watch to his pocket and his fingers to her skin. “Is this system amenable to you?” 

She didn’t miss a beat in answering him. “Yes, sir.” 

Good girl. Jack felt the corner of his mouth tip up in satisfaction. 

“Do you think you’ll be able to follow this as well as a few other, simple rules?”

She hesitated deliberately, this time, a wicked spark lighting in her dark eyes. When she spoke, her tone was tinged with good humour. “No, sir.”

Jack smiled at the unasked for use of the honorific. “I haven’t even told you what they are yet, Miss Fisher.” His smile grew a little wicked. “Which brings us to third rule, before we’ve even discussed the second.” He tsk’d his disapproval, while delighting in the opportunity to test a boundary. 

“If you break one of my rules, or otherwise disobey me without cause, I will be forced to discipline you…” He trailed off, seeing her face light up. They were of the same inclination, then— something he’d always suspected.

“Please,” she answered rapidly, a bit breathless. Her cheeks and chest were growing flushed again. Jack grinned, then, wolfishly. 

“Who would have thought that Miss Fisher, of all people, had a soft spot for submission…” He murmured, mostly to himself. She heard him, however, and smiled coyly. Jack didn’t think there would come a day when that knowing little smile of hers didn’t take his breath away. He wanted to kiss her pert mouth, taste those plump lips. And he planned to, later, but not yet… After all, what kind of detective inspector would he be if he rushed headlong into an investigation without first establishing a little order, or at the very least demonstrating proper decorum?

Jack wiped the grin off his face, assuming his most policeman-like manner. “I’m going to overlook your first infraction, Miss Fisher. But if you carry on in this… eager manner, I will be forced to restrain you.” He paused, arching one brow. ”Do you understand?”

With great effort, Phryne returned a slow nod. “Yes, Detective Inspector,” came her breathy reply. She understood, alright— the way her fingers stretched on the surface of the desk communicated that fact quite unconsciously. Jack unhooked the handcuffs from his belt and tossed them onto the table with a jangle of metal and wood. Phryne jumped a little, then eyed them with a shiver of pleasure. Not yet, darling. Not yet. As if she had heard him, Phryne pouted, pulling her teeth over her plump lower lip.  
Before either of them gave into the temptation that came in the form two polished silver circles and a tiny set of keys, Jack dragged his eyes back to Phryne’s face and continued to lay down tonight’s law.

“The second rule, which you wickedly forced me to skip, pertains to your lips.” Jack drank in the sight of her mouth, falling open with a barely audible pop. He wanted to hear that sound a thousand times over. “No biting.”

Phryne’s immediate frown turned into a slight smirk. Her answering, “Yes, sir,” was a taunt if he’d ever heard one. Jack didn’t give her the satisfaction of acknowledging it, however. Withholding his reaction, gratifying as it would have been, would be her punishment for breaking the rule so many times already. Besides, knowing Phryne, and knowing what he planned to do to her, Jack was confident he’d have the opportunity to discipline her repeatedly for like infractions as the night went on. 

His gaze traveling along the contours of her body once more, poised as Phryne was to be seen, touched, and tasted, Jack decided that he’d had enough of rule-making for the moment— it was time to tease Miss Fisher into a little rule-breaking…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What will next chapter bring? That's a Miss Fisher Mystery for me to solve, and you to discover. Thin office walls and an interrupting phone call may well be the first clue... 
> 
> (Fucking. Our dynamic duo will FINALLY have sex, and by that I mean he's going Down Under!).
> 
> Chapter 4 is already in the works, folks. UPDATE: It will drop 3.17.20! (Tonight!)


	4. Socked and Cuffed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack teases Phryne with a massage and some manacles...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skin to almost-skin, at last! 
> 
> The only article of clothing to come off in this chapter is a coat. Oops!
> 
> CW for manacles/restraint, sensory deprivation (sight), and continued D/s (lite). 
> 
> Not quite the head I promised, but tongues and lips and teeth (the latter, just a little...).

Jack wasn’t going to kiss Phryne yet, although cherry red lips, plump from all that nibbling, practically begged to be soothed by his. Her tongue darted out to wet them, leaving her mouth open with unspoken want.

Jack wasn’t going to so much as breathe the same air as Miss Fisher until he’d made her beg for it. Of course, she did possess a second pair of lips… Closer to his, given the current arrangement of limbs, than those stained with rouge and saltier than the other set, too— although, he suspected, each slit was as sweet as the other.

It was on those lower lips that Jack planned to focus, first.

Lightly, Jack hooked his hands underneath Phryne’s bent knees. A tremor ran through her legs as they unlocked under his touch. He held back a soft groan, a grin of anticipation. She wanted the copper right now, if her longing glance at the handcuffs had told him anything. Well, with a little discipline and a lot of discipline, Jack Robinson would find a way to live up to his official title. Detective Inspector, indeed…

Phryne twitched her left knee, an involuntary fidget that betrayed both her nerves at being so vulnerable, so exposed to him as well as her desperate need to be even more vulnerable, even more exposed before the night was through. Jack circled his thumb slowly over the inside of the other knee, marveling at the muscle held taut beneath the fine knit of her stocking. He’d bet anything that her skin there, at that soft joint, was even smoother, far silkier than any of her French lingerie…

During the tennis game, more than once, she’d stopped to roll her stockings back up— their lively play had offered Jack tantalizing glimpses of bared thighs and knees. He wanted nothing more than to rip the fabric from her, ravage her limb from limb, unleash years of pent up frustration on her unmentionables and simply satisfy them both with one powerful thrust—

But all in good time. An officer of the law she’d wanted. An officer she’d get. And policemen, good ones, were thorough in their investigations. Detectives never let impatience interrupt protocol. Well, except for Jack, when under the influence of Phryne… But not tonight! Tonight, he’d show her how a real detective inspector worked. Slowly, strategically, methodically. With ruthless precision and relentless attention— to detail and detainees alike... Tonight, he’d give Miss Fisher a taste of Melbourne’s finest. Distracting “Lady Detectives” be damned. And so for now, he’d keep those stockings rolled high, using the fine-woven friction to his advantage.

Besides, Jack suspected Phryne hadn’t yet tested the soft stroke of stockings on her sensitive, sweat- and perfume-scented skin when said stockings were damp with a man’s breath…

Slowly, Jack pushed his chair away from the desk, dragging his hands along the backs of her legs as he rolled back, forcing her to extend both legs to follow him until they were stretched straight: two shapely lines, like a ladder across the separating air. He chuckled to himself. Here was yet another ladder Jack would climb while chasing the mischievous mistress of his heart.

Cupping the base of her heels, Jack could feel another tremor run through her body— this time, it was a sign of Phryne’s physical exertion; the woman was working hard, after a long day on the court, to keep her legs steady and aloft.

_Good_ , Jack mused with a secret smile. He wanted her to work for this; he wanted every muscle in her body to be awake, active, tense. Like his were, whenever she walked into a room or waltzed onto a crime scene.

Affecting an absent mind when in fact he was consumed with the activity, alert to her every response, Jack skimmed the delicate arches of Phryne’s feet with his thumbs. She stifled a giggle— ticklish, he noted with satisfaction. Just as he’d suspected. Smiling softly, Jack pressed harder, massaging the length of her flexed feet and paying particular attention to the balls of them. Hers, like his, were surely sore after a long day of athletic display— but Phryne, unlike Jack, had played in heels. _Ouch_.

Jack’s tender efforts were rewarded with a variety of quiet moans, vibrating through closed lips. He glanced across the empty space separating them, gaze dragging slowly up her outstretched legs and arched torso, until he saw her tilt her head back. She was starting to relax, melting like wax under his interested touch.

Soon enough, Jack watched Phryne’s face light up with mischief as he worked each toe and the space between. _There’s my girl._

“Now point,” he commanded softly but sternly, and she did as she was told, extending her feet toward the wall behind him so that he could run his hands up and over. Giggling again, she wiggled her toes beneath his wrists. He chuckled softly at her ever-present playfulness. _The Phryne of It All._

Kneading more firmly now, Jack continued up the flesh of her calves, feeling her entire body relax, overcoming but not extinguishing the alert arousal that already flooded her form. He hardly took his eyes away from Phryne, from the workings of her throat as she groaned her pleasure, to the slow rise and fall of her breasts against their bindings, as her breaths grew ever deeper. Slowly, Jack planted her bare feet on the arms of his chair, one by one. Then, maintaining that deceptively easy pace— it was Herculean in truth, as his entire body (one organ in particular) was straining towards her very nearly exposed core— Jack reeled himself in, closer to the desk. _Closer to her._

On instinct, perhaps, or due to her deep relaxation, Phryne let her knees fall swiftly to either side. She was welcoming him in, and Jack wasn’t even sure if the movement was conscious. But it was what they both craved, of that he was certain. Her head still lolled back, and from his closer seated position he could no longer see her expression, but she sighed deeply as if lost to the ongoing pleasure of his touch.

Loosely grasping her thigh where skin met stocking, Jack let his thumbs toy with the rolled silk serving as a garter. Keeping the knit material in place, he nevertheless teased the satiny skin beneath: sweeping the supple flesh of her hamstrings with his smallest fingers, tucking his ring, middle and index below the stocking as if to strip it from her...

But he did nothing of the sort, and his denial made her flex and kick with obvious impatience. Jack kissed the inside of her left knee, then spoke without moving away. With his lips pressed against the stocking, his speech was muffled but intelligible, sending dark vibrations up and down her leg.

“I’m going to have to punish you for your impertinence, Miss Fisher.”

Phryne shivered. “ _Please_ , Jack.”

Jack knew she was begging for the removal of her stockings, not the application of his flat hand against her ass— if indeed that was how he chose to discipline her— but he ignored the temptation and forced her to endure the exquisite agony of remaining clothed a little longer. Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea for her punishment…

Without warning, he nipped at the silky skin above her stocking. Grazing his teeth over the sensitive flesh, he reveled in the shiver his impulsive movement had produced. Slowly, with greater care and a gentleness that belied his plans for her body, Jack opened his mouth wider and bit down upon the exposed skin of her left thigh. He let his teeth press against her, sucking steadily and with enough force to leave a mark that would last well into the next day. She’d feel the bruise, its painful pleasure, every time she flexed against her garter— and she would have to wear a garter, lest her stockings slip and show the dark pink imprint of his hungry mouth. Phryne whined, moving beneath Jack’s mouth until he was forced to break the suction.

After lazily running his tongue over the tender flesh, coloring quickly thanks to his attentions, Jack lifted his head to look his partner in the eye. She was propped up on her elbows now, leveling him a glare of need and want and exasperated desire. Jack suppressed a grin.

“That wasn’t your punishment, Miss Fisher,” he murmured deep in his throat. “I have something far more severe in mind, considering your habitual disobedience and wanton impatience.”

Those pale blue eyes widened in outrage, but aside from a little gasp Phryne was smart enough to keep quiet. As a reward for that, Jack pressed a light kiss to the bruise now forming on the inside of her thigh. She shuddered, but held his gaze. Brazen woman…

Jack rolled the chair even closer, until his chest was inches from the taut hem of her dress and his own elbows rested on the edge of the desk. He was silent for a moment, letting curiosity and desperation contort the delicate features of Phryne’s face.

“I’m going to lift your skirt, now.” It was a statement, but his tone wanted an answer. Jack paused another moment.

“ _Please_ ,” she whispered, dragging out the vowels in a soft whine. Phryne’s expression was eager yet her eyes gleamed triumphant beneath their lazy, half-closed lids. Lust laced the natural curve of her lips, which had joined in a smug moue. She wriggled slightly on the desk’s surface, as if to signal that she were ready for the unrobing.

“I wasn’t finished…” Jack warned, although the words tasted like Canadian whiskey on his tongue, pleased as he was with her adherence to his simple rule. Jack liked hearing Phryne tell him how much she wanted him— it was a gratifying change from their usual game of teasing innuendo. “I’m going to lift your skirts, but I’m going to leave your dress on. I wouldn’t want to deprive you of its comfortable cut.”

Jack let the words hang in the air, as realization sank in for her: that he’d be punishing Phryne by denying her the extent of her debauchery, by restricting her body to a garment that wore well on the court but would restrict her movements in the bedroom— not to mention, stimulate without satisfaction the most sensitive patches of her skin with its fine weave…

There was recognition in her eyes, as well; after all, she’d spent the better part of the afternoon taunting Jack by flaunting her figure, boasting about her frock’s _superior cut_ , and the _comfort_ it offered the modern sportswoman. Jack saw in the twitch of her jaw that Phryne had strong opinions about his turning her own words back on her. Too bad she couldn't voice them.

Jack sent her a smug look, satisfied with the seemingly mild discipline he’d be instilling— because it wouldn’t seem mild to Phryne, when her nipples pebbled against the unyielding silk bands, when at the _peak_ of her wildness she craved skin-to-skin contact and her own choice of garment so cruelly denied it.

As for Jack? The sight of Phryne writhing on his desk, spread open before him like a delicacy served up to a starving man… her labia a ruddy pink, swollen with arousal and glistening with unsated desire… breathless and bare, but for a pair of silk stockings… 

_Damn_ , he cursed, his cock twitching at the mental image. Phryne's disheveled but decidedly “decent” state of dress would torture the two of them, differently but equally. _He’d always had a thing for women who fucked in their stockings._

Miraculously, Phryne had yet to protest this form of “punishment.” She was probably aware of the varied pleasures that would accompany, and compensate for, the frustration inevitable to the arrangement. Pulling himself together, Jack frowned his approval and her eyes twinkled knowingly in response.

“Good girl,” he added aloud, his voice gruff, praising her enthusiastic acceptance of this condition. Phryne seemed to perk up at his acknowledgment of her obedience. Once again, Jack was thrown off guard.

Phryne, who never needed anyone’s permission or validation, now looked for Jack’s good opinion. If she had ever wanted it before, she hadn’t told him— not in so many (or few) words.

Pondering that fact, Jack rose and stepped forward until he stood at the end of the desk. At the apex of her thighs. A flash of need, white hot, went through him. He wanted to stand, unbutton his trousers, and plunge right into her, throwing his hitherto slow and methodical plan of seduction out the window, onto the quiet street beyond.

Jack closed his eyes, and swallowed a groan. He was so ready: throbbing like hell, hard as steel, the most erect he’d been in his entire life— and she was _right_ there, all damp and hot and needy! Without thinking, caught up in the idea of it, he stood. The movement was abrupt, uncontrolled. _Damn_. Her creamy skirt, pushed back by her earlier teasing and, more recently, pulled taut by her legs’ angle, now brushed up against the front of his trousers. His cock shivered, overstimulated by the rapid tug of tented wool against stretched silk. Jack was losing his willpower by the second. _Fuck_.

“Please?” Phryne repeated herself after a beat, more tentative now, but still louder.

Jack opened his eyes and, looking down at her, found that she had lifted her head and was starting up at him, clearly confused by his rigid stillness, not to mention his break in character. Then, her gaze traveling south, she saw his erection. The extent of it, rather.

“ _Oh_.” Such a simple noise; not even a word, really. But it carried with it a world of meaning, with or without her knowing emphasis. Phryne sounded less submissive, and more commanding, facing down this new discovery. She shifted her wait to one arm and reach around with her right hand, as if to touch him there. But Jack couldn’t let her do that, not yet.

He moved in a flash, wrapping his fingers around her delicate wrist to halt its motion. “I don’t believe ‘Oh’ was included on that list, earlier, Miss Fisher.” He resumed his stern tone, the one that he often used to scold her in their everyday, as he wrestled for some semblance of self-control.

Phryne’s eyes widened, and she shook her head slowly at his doubtless unhinged expression.

“You broke the rules, Miss Fisher.” There it was. Jack bent over her, determined officer of the law once more, lowering his voice to a richer, more menacing tone. “You know what comes next, don’t you?”

She just stared at him, mesmerized.

Drawing close until his face was inches from hers, until their bourbon-sweet breath began to mingle, he whispered, _“I’m going to have to punish you…”_

Those ruby lips popped silently open once more, and Jack read delight and trepidation in equal measures in her expression. _Hmmm…_

Jack didn’t know what Phryne had experience with, but knowing her, she’d tried all the usual (and unusual) toys and kinks. The trouble was, he didn’t own any such paraphernalia— nor did he know enough about it to try that kind of discipline on her, even if he did have a flogging kit or restraints on his person. But the handcuffs…

Still caught in his encircling grip, Phryne blinked up at Jack. She was waiting for him to make his move, her breathing shallow with anticipation. He took in her flushed chest and parted lips, the fingers of her free hand flexing against the smooth mahogany.

Phryne wanted him to kiss her, to let her wrap her arms around his neck and drag him down into an embrace that would last as long as they did. But Jack wasn’t ready to give her what she wanted. And there was still the problem of punishment. _Restraint,_ he thought— all she needed was a little help holding back.

Without relinquishing her wrist, Jack reached up to loosen his tie, tugging at the knot until it unraveled, sliding the length of silk out from under his starched collar. The process was slow— not because Jack was deliberately drawing it out, although he enjoyed the impatient furrow in Phryne’s brow immensely and noticed her biting her lip in hungry frustration (yet another infraction…), but because he was trying the task at a disadvantage: one-handed.

When at last the long line of burgundy silk was free and coiled loosely in his hand, Jack flashed Phryne a grin. She was smiling up at him like the cat that got the cream, clearly having assumed he’d caved to his desires and starting to undress in truth. She’d underestimated his iron will, if after much bending this evening Jack could still call it that. In a swift, practiced motion Jack undid the top two buttons of his shirt, reveling the freedom of movement it afforded him. He stretched his neck from side to side and then turned his full attention on Phryne, who had started up as if to help him with the rest of the undoing.

“Not so fast, Miss Fisher!” Jack lunged forward, catching her hand as it reached toward him.

Her flesh was soft and supple, the skin of her palm polished and free of blisters despite their match earlier. Jack pushed Phryne’s other wrist down, until her hand rested behind her, as the other already did.

“Don’t move,” he murmured, his ice blue eyes boring deep into Phryne’s deeper blue for several seconds to ensure that she didn’t disobey this time.

Releasing her, he set the silk tie on the wooden surface, slightly crumpled from use and the unorthodox method of removal. Then Jack reached down to grasp the handle of the top desk drawer. Increasingly impatient, he yanked open the drawer. Thrusting his free hand under a stack of completed reports, Jack found a fresh tie rolled up atop a folded button-down; he withdrew the former. He would need two restraints to carry out the punishment he had in mind. Straightening, Jack swapped the soft grey wool for its silk counterpart, leaving the former on the desk, only a few inches from Phryne’s ass.

“Close that drawer with your heel, then return your foot to its original position on my chair.” His voice was low and thick with desire and disuse. Phryne did as she was told in one graceful flick, watching him with an inquisitive expression all the while.

“ _Good girl._ Now, Miss Fisher…” Jack tightened his grip on her right wrist. “Close your eyes.”

Inhaling sharply, Phryne darted once last longing look at his face and lips, before allowing her eyes to flutter shut. Jack didn’t move for a moment, admiring the faint lilac of her unshadowed eyelids, the sooty crescents of her long lashes resting against creamy skin. Then he leaned in— instinctively, she arched towards him, but with intense effort he ignored her body brushing against his and focused instead on draping the narrow length of silk evenly across her upturned face. Once Jack judged the lay symmetrical, he wrapped the ends of the material around the back of her pretty head, carefully avoiding catching any of her jet-black hair in the process, and tied them firmly off.

“Is that too tight, Miss Fisher?” She scrunched her face a little, testing the texture and tension. But Jack knew his knots, and unless he allowed it, not even Phryne, for all her magic tricks, would be able to escape that blindfold. Still, he didn’t want discomfort distracting her from fully experiencing the pleasure he had planned.

“No, Detective Inspector.” Her voice was steady, and clear as a song— an excellent sign. No hint of fear, distaste, or confusion.

“I won’t be pleased if I catch you peeking…” One corner of her mouth quirked in a mischievous little grin, and Jack wanted nothing more than to kiss it away. But he held back, hovering a few inches above her upturned face.

After a few silent seconds fraught with sexual tension, Phryne sighed reluctantly and that grin dissolved into a cherry red pout. Jack wondered whether she was trying to seduce him, if this display was part of a scheme to wrest some power in this situation back from him— or if Phryne was simply as hungry for Jack as he was for her, but for once she couldn’t be bothered to hide it better. Not that it mattered, either way. Her cupid’s bow would have to wait, and that was punishment enough if indeed she had been trying to throw him off course.

Returning to the larger task, he retrieved the dark grey wool— making sure to brush his knuckles against her hip as he did, a caress that earned him a hitch in her breath— and reached for her left wrist with his free hand, encircling the porcelain skin with gentle fingers once more. Slowly, Jack brought her arm up, guiding her until her delicate hand was curled in a loose fist, level with the center of his chest.

“Stay,” he murmured firmly, releasing her with some reluctance. Instantly Jack missed the contact, missed the silken caress of her sheer skin against his calloused grip. But he had work to do. With languorous movements, he began to wrap the soft knit around her wrist, at the intersection of her palm and forearm. Tight enough to stay, but not so tight as to cause discomfort. Two layers thick with the thicker end tucked within, then he started the work of securing the length of fabric by draping it over the dip between her thumb and delicate index, bringing it gently under so that the garment stretched diagonally across the back of her hand. Jack turned the wool around her forearm once more, then tied off the end with a simple, flexible knot. Phryne flexed her hand and wiggled her fingers, humming her satisfaction when she found she could still move her extremities with ease.

“Is that comfortable, Miss Fisher?”

“Yes, Detective Inspector,” came her pert, impatient reply.

Phryne was the smartest woman Jack knew, and she’d seen the handcuffs earlier. He suspected she’d already solved the mystery of the wrist wrapping. Jack’s self-satisfied smile grew with the remembrance that she couldn’t see him, couldn’t read his expression for clues. Not that she’d need them in a minute.

Letting his fingers trail over the makeshift binding, Jack reveled in his partner’s shiver. He could only imagine the effect that two new and mysterious textures were having on her sensitive nerves, which he’d been teasing for an unforgivable length of time by now. She inhaled deeply and smiled, her chest rising— breasts straining against their own silk prison. Jack nearly groaned at the sight of her nipples, hardening beneath the luxurious fabric. _All in good time_ , he reminded himself, and returned to questioning the small, secret smile that lit up what remained visible of Phryne’s face. Without vanity, he wondered if she could smell his cologne on the blindfold, if that was what had brought such peace to her features. She was beautiful, wrapped up like a gift in their collective clothing.

Jack leaned in, curling his fingers around her outstretched wrist. As his grip tightened, Phryne instinctively scooted closer to him, her lips slightly puckered— waiting for his kiss. Smothering a fond laugh at her natural inclination, Jack rewarded his lover with an approximation of what she wanted. He raised the wrapped arm to his mouth, grazing each curled finger with first his lips and then a flick of his tongue. When he reached her curved thumb, he opened his mouth and took the digit in, letting his tongue caress the carefully manicured nail before biting down gently on the soft pad of her finger. Phryne moaned at this teaser, the sound coming low through her closed lips.

Jack released her thumb with a slow suck and hissed his need. He wanted those cherry red lips wrapped 'round his cock— he wanted her moans to vibrate along the hard length of him, the faint graze of pearly teeth over the root of him. The idea alone was enough to make the organ in question twitch, shuddering against the tented wool of his trousers. _Fuck_. Where was he? Restraint. Self-restraint— not tearing at his belt, not spearing her over the paperwork. Restraints! He hadn’t finished punishing Phryne for her infractions— and distractions…

In one swift movement, Jack guided Phryne’s hand down to the desk’s surface; her fingers intuitively curled around the hard lines of the edge. Trusting her to stay put, Jack reached with unrealized speed to grasp her narrow waist in both hands, dragging her closer to him until her buttocks rested just barely atop the mahogany. The back of her dress skittered out behind her, spreading across the wood and leaving her bottom completely exposed to the cool surface. Jack tried not to think about her delicate folds dripping onto his hard desktop, lest the head of his cock preemptively weep.

Maintaining his stoic, efficient affect, Jack fumbled for the handcuffs that he’d tossed onto the desk not ten minutes earlier. They clinked against one another when he found them, and Phryne drew in an excited breath at the sound. She’d figured out his plan, alright. Not that he’d made it hard for her. _Yet_. Swiftly, Jack caught her wrapped wrist in one of the silver crescents, sliding the pieces until the lock clicked. His tie should prevent any damage being done to her skin, hence the meticulous binding he’d performed moments ago. He leaned in close to whisper in her ear, holding the other cuff tightly.

“Does that feel comfortable, Miss Fisher?”

“Very,” she breathed, angling her face to his in a futile attempt at contact. Jack pulled back before she could nip his ear.

“Naughty girl,” he murmured at the vocabulary technicality, and then with ruthless speed he locked the other cuff around the metal handle of the top drawer. Phryne gasped, pulled lower by the unforgiving angle of the restraint, but pleasure laced the sound. Jack grinned and, stepping back, surveyed his handiwork.

The Hon. Miss Phryne Fisher, Lady Detective and all-around Mischief Maker, was trussed up, tied up, trapped. On Jack’s work desk. And only he had the key.

Her legs were still splayed around him, her feet still spread wide and planted on the arms of his chair. The hem of that damned dress was pulled taut by the position, nearly exposing her vulva to his view, while the back lay flat on the mahogany behind her, leaving her ass naked against the wood. Restrained as she was, Phryne arched her form forward and up, straining to meet him in the space that now separated their bodies. The detective allowed himself one smug smirk, before setting to work on the second part of his plan.

Jack Robinson was going to make his cornered lover cry out in such pleasure that the empty station would resound with her every sound. He’d make her wet, he’d make her weep, he’d send her cascading over the keening crest of pleasure and draw out every drop of that bone-deep desire that they’d felt for each other since the moment they’d first met eyes. _It was time._

Jack planted a hand on either side of Phryne’s waist, within her arms’ propped up embrace, and slanted the length of his torso over hers, careful to keep a tantalizing inch between them. If she had been wearing one of her usual couture ensembles, he was certain the gauzy material would be brushing up against his chest, tickling away his self-possession. Jack was thankful, not for the first time tonight, that her ivory tennis frock was as unornamented as it was tight across her breasts. Glancing down the narrow space that separated their bodies now, Jack was pleased to find that he could see every expansion of her ribcage, each time her breasts strained flat against their silk prison. He could watch her breathe like this for hours, and be driven as mad as he’d evidently already made her— Phryne’s rapid, hitched breathing was a testament to her arousal, not just the constricting athletic costume. Jack’s entire body tensed in response. He couldn’t wait to taste her much longer…

Bending his arms as though he were performing a slow push-up in the training yard, Jack brought his body within a fraction of an inch of hers. He angled his head slightly to the side, and lowered his face to the taut juncture of her jaw and neck. Phryne whined as he dragged his teeth slowly across her sensitive skin, arching her neck toward him when he took his mouth away, having reached the underside of her chin. A fresh flush blossomed under the porcelain, and Jack grinned. He’d wanted her wild for his touch, by the time he was ready to give it— who knew that some simple sensory deprivation and drawn out submission would do the trick? He made a mental note of that for next time. Because there would be a next time.

Pressing his lips into the soft skin she’d offered up to him, Jack murmured, “Remember, Miss Fisher… You can always say, ‘No.’” The vibrations he’d created were met with ones that originated far deeper in her throat as she moaned. Jack lifted his head slightly to watch her lick her cherry red lips, then part them in an effort to speak.

“ _Please_ ,” she begged at last, her body trembling and a tremor disrupting the sweet music of her voice. Jack grinned wolf-like and began his erotic onslaught in earnest.

First, he covered the translucent skin of her throat in hot, open-mouthed kisses. Jack clamped his teeth down gently over the curve of her neck and pulled his lips across the tender, translucent skin. He teased sensitive spots as he discovered them with his tongue, eliciting moans and sighs that made his member move, scraping against the soft fabric of his trousers. And when he nipped playfully at the hanging lobe of her ear, and a gasp erupted, interrupted Phryne’s buoyant giggle. His left hand came up to massage and caress the base of her scalp and back of her neck, as he burrowed deep into the crook of her neck, inhaling whatever sweet cologne she wore and savoring the salty flavor of their game, a trace of which had remained many hours later. Then, running his left hand quickly and lightly over the front of her bodice— without so much as a squeeze of her aching breast, which she did her best to arch into his palm— Jack migrated further south.

He took hold of her by the ribs, thumbing the soft fabric just below her right breast, with his broad left hand to stabilize her— as he then plucked her free hand from the table and lifted it to meet his lips.

Jack started by taking each finger, first thumb and so on, slowly and deeply in his mouth. He sucked hard on each individually, until they popped audibly from his mouth. Then he traced the delicate tendons in her hand, following their paths with the point of his tongue until finally he kissed first the back, then the sheer underside, of her delicate wrist. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her cuffed hand flexing at the memory of his mouth, her wrist rolling in its steel grip. Jack grinned. Rotating her arm slowly, he trailed uncountable kisses up the inside of her arm, stopping only to explore the inner crook of her elbow with his tongue. She vibrated with pleasure, desperately holding her breath. When Jack reached Phryne’s shoulder, he grazed his teeth over the rounded skin, and swiftly set her arm down and switched positions so that he could repeat the entire process on her other arm— even though it meant he had to crouch to reach the length of her trapped limb.

Between Jack’s tongue, lips, and careful teeth, not an inch of Phryne’s skin was neglected. By the time he’d finished with her upper extremities, Miss Fisher was a quivering, shivering mess— her body was arched involuntarily towards him until their torsos brushed, just barely, below her as of yet uncaressed breasts.

Shifting his stance back a step, Jack nearly lost his footing, for Phryne’s altered posture had drawn the wheeled chair closer to the desk: her legs were drawn up into rigid isosceles; where once they had only loosely bridged the distance between his office furnishings, now they’d closed that gap significantly. Jack glanced under his arm, checking to see if her feet still rested where he’d set them down. To his satisfaction, she’d managed to hold both in place— but her toes curled desperately around the sharp edges of the wooden arms, and her heels threatened to slip from their smooth pedestals.

It was time, Jack told himself again, wearing a wicked grin, to reward his partner for her patience and show of self-discipline— as both appeared to be wearing dangerously thin…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will post a proper feast for you all, later tonight/tomorrow. ;)


	5. What Jack Learned While Stationed in Paris...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two kisses, in two places...

“You’ve been punished enough for your earlier infraction, Miss Fisher. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Before the last word had left his lips, she began to nod vigorously. Jack chuckled. Poor girl— he’d dragged that foreplay out quite cruelly. Not that she’d complained…

Jack extracted himself from the slant of their near-embrace, straightening up in the space left between chair and desk. “If you’re still willing, I intend to finally lift your skirt. What do you say, Miss Fisher? Shall I pursue this … investigation?”

Phryne toyed with her plump lower lip, too hungry for his touch to be aware that she was breaking a rule, then bobbed her head repeatedly. At that wordless flash of pearly white, Jack sighed. “You’re going to have to use your words, if you want me to go any further.”

“Yes!” She rushed to speak. “Please, Inspector— please.” The words came out of her mouth so fast, they tripped over each other into a single sound. Jack smiled. That was more like it.

“I didn’t give you permission to bite your lip, Miss Fisher,” he answered in a low, warning murmur. She’d been straining against the handcuff, blindly angling herself toward him— but at his word, she stilled immediately. “I’m going to overlook that, provided you promise to remain perfectly quiet and still, from now on.”

It was an impossible task, given what he had in mind for her, and judging by the suspicious twitch of her lips, she knew that. But Jack would enjoy watching her try, and eventually fail. Besides, it would probably increase her pleasure initially if she had to fight her body’s natural response to stimulation. “Lie back and remember the new rules,” he commanded. “ _Perfectly quiet and utterly still_.”

Phryne nodded again, with greater vigor, and with the help of his guiding hand between her shoulder blades, lowered herself until she was flat against the desk. During this slow recline, her skirt had slipped further down her sharply angled thighs until it was pooled about her hips— he caught a glimpse of swollen pink lips, glistening with moisture, but no more. Damned dress.

Jack exhaled hard, then glanced back up at his lover’s lovely face. He smiled and leaned down to tuck a stray lock behind her left ear. The movement brought his cock into close proximity with her damp core, and Jack swallowed a groan at the heat he could feel radiating from her.

Stepping back from Phryne with great effort, Jack checked that the key to the handcuffs was in his jacket pocket before removing the garment and hanging it over the chair. One by one, he rolled up the cuffs of his sleeves until his forearms were completely free. Then he stretched his neck from side to side, and sat down between her splayed legs. Phryne whimpered as a breeze blew through the open window to toy with the hem of her dress. The delicate silk fluttered and dipped to kiss her swollen lips, sticking slightly against the moisture that had gathered there. Another flurry of air played out across her tender labia, which Jack couldn’t quite see— but surmised her exposure to the elements when he saw Phryne shudder and squirm.

“Easy now,” he murmured. “I don’t want to have to punish you again, before I’ve even had the chance to touch you.” They both knew that by that he didn’t mean the teasing caresses to which he’d already subjected her. Jack was ready to dive deep, and Phryne was drowning in anticipation.

When he’d sat down, Jack had allowed his hands to come to rest loosely on the top her stockinged feet, still balancing on either arm of his chair. Now, he skimmed the surface of his palms over the sheer fabric, exploring once more the delicate curve of her ankles, the soft swell of her lightly muscled calves. Jack traveled further north, tracing the rounded tops of her knees, falling down the slope of her raised thighs. At last, with a passing flick of the tight garters, he passed over the fabric and found her bare skin. Slowly, slowly, with a touch so faint he gave them both goosebumps, Jack moved in on his target.

Preemptively, Phryne gave him permission to continue, whispering a breathy “ _yes_ ” as he approached the crease where her long legs ended and her pelvis began. The skin was supple, smooth, and soft as any he’d yet touched. Softer still, however, was the prize that lay hidden beneath her beckoning hemline. Taking care to avoid touching her there, he took hold of the fabric between his thumb and index fingers and raised her skirt to reveal that most secret place of all. Not that she’d kept its secret too well, what with her decision to discard any unmentionables and play an entire tournament of tennis in a state of indecent undress.

_Really, Phryne— what if there had been a breeze?_ Jack rather suspected she’d been hoping for a strong one.

Tossing the luxurious silk back, Jack lifted his hands and looked directly upon her glistening folds. Phryne’s labia were prettily asymmetrical, and she was spread wide and wet— like a rose’s petals after a rain or unfurling in the morning dew. Nestled in that ruddy bed, her clitoris strained, swollen and sweet, practically pulsating at the prospect of Jack’s touch. He inhaled sharply as he took in the sight of her, exposed to the elements and his eager gaze, and caught a whiff of her delicate musk.

Jack wanted nothing more than to bury his face in her folds and eat until he was sated— or heaven was no longer gated. The latter, surely, would come sooner.

“It’s a pity you can’t see what I see,” he murmured wickedly, having at last recovered his senses enough to speak.

“It’s a pity you can’t feel what I feel,” she retorted in a sharp whisper, earning her one snapped garter.

Unhooking his finger from said band and stroking the smarting skin beneath, Jack smiled secretly. He was glad Phryne was breaking his rules, testing the limits of his dominance. They both knew who was really in charge here— never had a real Roman soldier been willing or able to deny his Egyptian queen.

“I’m sure you’ll ravage me in turn, Miss Fisher,” he murmured, settling back down between her thighs. “Now, where was I?” And without another word, Jack leaned in for his first taste of heaven.

***

_Ravage_ him? Really? Right now, Phryne felt more likely to knock him over the head with the liquor bottle he’d stored in the drawer below the one to which her left wrist was currently attached. Just like Jack, to stoke her desire to the the sticking point, then withhold his touch until she developed homicidal fantasies.

They’d been straddling this line, this live wire, for years. Sometimes, the tension was so electric, Phryne feared physical contact would cause a lethal shock. Tonight, she was rather more certain she’d be receiving a petite mort— probably many. That is, if Jack ever got around to…

And suddenly all thoughts of aggravated assault and romantic history evaporated from her head, as Jack lowered his own to the very core of her. Without prologue, he dragged the flat length of his tongue up, up, up, along the length of her slit. Starting at the tender flesh of her perineum, ending with a teasing flick of her clitoris.

“ _Jack_.” She shuddered as she lit up from the inside, glowing like the pear-shaped lights on a certain July Christmas tree. Phryne’s nerves sputtered and sparked, as though they’d been tampered with by a wicked man in a wool suit. Which, really, wasn’t far from the truth.

As suddenly as he’d been there, he was gone. Phryne could have sworn she heard him whisper, “so that’s what heaven tastes like,” before his head reappeared between her thighs and his eyes caught hers in their dark, hungry depths. Phryne caught her breath at the intensity of his stare.

“Jack,” she repeated softly, her voice plaintive and pleading. He understood, nodding slowly without breaking eye contact, before he disappeared and the top of his head was all she could see of him again. Lying back, Phryne attempted to await his next erotic onslaught with patience, fortitude, endurance. All that went to the wind, when his lips brushed against the tender skin of her inner thigh. Fuck. Apparently, that slow lap was to be a preview, part of his continued slow tease.

Phryne wasn’t sure how much more she could take, to be honest. Luckily, Jack’s gentle lips made their way quickly down her leg, to her center once more, his teeth nipping and grazing here and there. Involuntarily, Phryne’s thigh twitched, nudging his head closer to her core. Jack chuckled low in his throat, sending waves of sweet sensation across and under her skin. Then he followed her lead, letting his usually stern mouth trail closer to the center of her; his occasionally sharp tongue flattening against her outer labia at last.

Moaning, Phryne stretched her free hand across the red blotter. She struggled to find purchase on its smooth surface as Jack made a thorough investigation of her inner vulva, tracing the delicate rim of her labia with careful slowness— toying with and teasing the soaked flesh with a graze, here and there, of his smiling teeth. Maintaining an agonizing pace, he made his way north to circle her clitoris once, twice, with his tongue before he flicked the sensitive bud.

“Jack!” She let out an involuntary gasp, her wrist tugging against its solitary restraint. The detective ignored her cry; lowering his mouth to encompass her clitoris, he began to suck on the swollen flesh, gently at first but with increasing force. Phryne writhed on the desktop as his tongue swirled intricate, delicate designs. Her head lolled back against the hardwood as he continued his ministrations, alternating his attentions between her clit and lower lips.

Jack began to delve deeper, closer to the very core of her— first lapping at the soaked skin, then teasing around her entrance, then finally, slowly, toe-curlingly easing his way in…

“ _Jack_ ,” she whined, calling for him, for more. Devil that the man was, he did the opposite: Jack gently withdrew his tongue from Phryne’s core and, after pressing a fleeting kiss to the peak of her clit, raised his head to meet her imploring stare.

“Did you need something, Miss Fisher?” He asked in a low, knowing tone. Then he licked his lips and grinned, pushing off the desk with his hands so that he stood over her again. “Or do you just like the sound of my name.”

Jack planted a hand on either side of Phryne’s tousled hair, stretching his torso along her taut frame. Even as she arched towards him, he leaned down and took her mouth in a savage kiss. His tongue parted her lips, toyed with hers, delved deep as he had down below. Phryne’s free hand came to the back of his head, clutching Jack closer. She ran her fingers through his typically neat hair, knotting them at the nape of his neck. Her partner propped himself up on one hand while the other moved up along her ribs to knead her breasts, which ached beneath the silk sport brassiere she wore beneath her frock.

Their tongues danced and their bodies pressed tight, and Phryne couldn’t help but sigh into Jack’s mouth— to be met with an answering moan. Neither of them could breathe like this, and when Phryne finally thought she’d lose her mind to the kiss, or even just faint as a result of it, Jack nipped at her lower lip and drew back from her in one wrenching motion. He hovered above her for a moment, breathing heavily as Phryne licked the taste of herself from her lips. Jack’s eyes were hot and dark with desire, and his hungry stare seemed to burn wherever it went.

Still unsatisfied by his earlier attentions, Phryne nudged Jack’s muscular backside with one knee. He straightened up immediately.

“I thought I told you to keep your feet planted firmly where they were…” Jack murmured, sitting back down in a smooth and sinuous movement without breaking eye contact. “Perhaps I need to teach you a lesson about that,” he continued, turning his head to bite gently at the bruise that was still forming from his earlier kiss on her upper thigh. Phryne shivered at the sliver of pain, chased by a wave of pleasure, that the contact created.

“Please,” she whispered, willing him closer. Jack wrapped one large hand around her right ankle, holding it still, and allowed his other to travel slowly up the length of her left leg until his fingers traced the earlier path of his tongue and lips. Phryne practically keened.

“Well, Miss Fisher,” he answered in a voice as intoxicating as Canadian whiskey. “Since you asked so nicely…”


	6. A New Lead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's been building up to this punishment for a while now. It's time Phryne remembered who wears the trousers in this partnership-- and what's underneath said garment... 
> 
> A bit of a teaser chapter, repositioning, and the start of something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to all for the length between updates-- I've been in a slump, re: writing smut, thanks to quarantine-brain. The next chapter should come much sooner, no pun intended!
> 
> CW: continued use of handcuffs, police officer, bj.

“Well, Miss Fisher,” Jack whispered, his voice vibrating with anticipation’s ache. “Since you asked so nicely…”

Phryne’s breath caught as his long fingers trailed along her inner thigh, then on to tease the sensitive skin of her perineum, studiously— torturously— avoiding any contact with her aching core. She squirmed under his soft touch, unable to stay silent or still like she’d promised. She was eager for whatever punishment he’d decided she deserved— if for no other reason than the chance that he might enter her again.

In a characteristically bold act of rebellion, Phryne nudged free of the blindfold. She wanted to _watch_ as well as feel his touch. Luckily, Jack’s consuming concern for her comfort meant that he’d left the knot a little loose. One might argue that the tie’s journey north was inevitable, and not in the least bit her fault! All it needed was a little encouragement…

Silk scrunched up and over her eyebrows, stretching to circle around her forehead. The soft fabric shoved her usually straight bangs aside in a sweaty tangle.

Jack noticed. But he said and did nothing about this new development, other than arch one thick brow. Phryne crossed her fingers in her skirts, hoping that Jack’s relative lack of response belied some internal response. Surely he’d add that last act of disobedience to her already lengthy tally?

“You’ll need a little more mobility for the kind of discipline I have in mind.” Jack spoke slowly and in a low, quiet tone that was suspiciously free of the sexual tension he certainly felt. His cool, collected demeanor drove Phryne mad. She’d already managed to crack the officer’s facade once; it was only a matter of time before she managed to get under his skin again…

Still stroking the fashionably waxed patch of skin just to the side of her swollen labia, Jack slipped his free hand into the pocket of his jacket, draped carefully over the rigid back of his chair, and retrieved a tiny silver key. The too-clever captive knew what that meant, or at least she thought she did: Phryne was finally going to be set free! But what about her punishment…?

Jack’s laugh held a hint of mockery, as if he could read her mind. Or perhaps the only clues he needed could be found in her flushed face, and the contours of her contorted limbs. He was a detective, after all— observant, intuitive, and a _hard_ worker…

Shaking off her confusion at Jack’s apparently imminent leniency, Phryne giggled at her easy pun. Let him do what he liked to her— she was sure she’d enjoy whatever he had planned. Even if her heart was set on hard discipline…

Re-awakening to her defining devil-may-care attitude, Phryne decided it was time to play a more active role in their game. Catching Jack’s ice blue eye and holding it, she slowly drew her right leg up, taking care to tuck her knee in close. Pointing her stocking-clad toes, she lightly dragged a path down the back of his trousers, coming to a stop when the top of her foot hovered just below his balls. Jack broke contact to watch her slide back and forth, finding friction against the pendulous weight of him.

Jack sucked in a breath; all six feet, two inches of him stumbled a step closer to the desk. He nearly dropped the set of keys, his left hand scrambling for purchase on the solid, smooth mahogany, while the other tightened round her hip in a vice-like grip. Oh, she had him _hooked._ Biting back a wicked grin, Phryne settled into this powerful new position.

“ _Phryne_.” Her name came out hot on heady exhale. His eyes fluttered closed once he caught himself on the desk. His tone spoke of exquisite torment.

She didn’t bother suppressing a smug smile at his expense. It was high time for the power to shift, and she knew just the trick.

“Better get those cuffs off me quick, Detective,” she murmured in a voice that trailed temptation. Her eyes sparkled with something like greed as she gazed on his erection. “It seems there’s a situation that needs _handling_.”

Jack growled something incoherent as she continued her over-the-trouser caress, and opened his eyes— wide and hungry— to glare at her. _Good_. He was getting as worked up as she already was. “As much as I trust your expert touch, Miss Fisher… I’ve got a better idea.”

Relinquishing his hold on her hip, Jack slid his left hand up Phryne’s side to stroke her jaw. Her lips parted involuntarily, and he thumbed the lower of the pair with a gentle intensity. She puckered around him reflexively, her tongue darting out to wet the flat tip.

Sucking in an uneven breath, Jack visibly struggled to master himself. After a moment, he met her sultry stare. His cock twitched now and then against her curled toes and his nostrils flared with hunger, but overall Jack seemed to have regained his fraying facade of self-control.

He hooked a finger under the blindfold and slid the displaced silk strip off her face and into his fist. A flurry of the same fabric later, and he’d messily recreated the soft wrap he’d tied around her other wrist earlier. It took Phryne less than a hasty heartbeat to realize his altered plan for her hands. Her body thrilled in anticipation, although he didn’t make her wait long.

Fast as her car could round a hairpin curve, Jack unlocked the cuff attached to the drawer handle. He then lifted her left hand, still manacled, and brought it to rest in the air above her outstretched torso. Jack repeated this motion with the other, now wrapped in its silk cushion, so that her arms stretched parallel before her. He then took the second silver crescent that now dangled, unhinged, from its twin on her left wrist and hooked it quickly around the other limb.

The lock clicked, and Jack’s eyes gleamed silver-bright with bridled lust. His hand returned to her face, cupping her chin so that her attention shifted from the handcuffs back to him.

“Well then, Miss Fisher.” His voice was as soft as a whisper as he slipped one hand beneath her arm. With Jack’s help, she drew herself up into a proper sitting position. Without relinquishing his hold, Jack continued in a husky tone, “Shall we proceed with the punishment I had planned?”

Phryne nodded eagerly. They’d been partners for years, now— she knew exactly what he meant.

In line with her expectations, Jack pulled back to put some space between their hungry faces. His arm left her back in a flash, once he was sure she sat steady. His large hand found and pushed down on her bound wrists so that they were level with his waist. Then, hooking one finger over the chain that linked them, he pulled it taut— stopping only when her finger tips could easily skim the front of his trousers.

Which, without thinking, Phryne now did.

They shuddered in unison at the scarce contact. Jack drew himself up, puffing out his chest. He looked every disheveled inch of a Detective Inspector. Imperious, serious, intense. Phryne instinctively tensed. It was time for her so-called _punishment_ to commence…

Jack’s tone was brisk, his orders brief. Phryne wondered in awe what it must be like to work under him— and realized, with glee, that she’d find out shortly.

“Put your foot back where it belongs,” he commanded, in a voice like heated iron, “and _handle_ this situation. I expect you to give the task your full attention.”

Jack glanced down at her, his gaze hotter than a bushfire. Arousal threatened to derail his carefully controlled persona. Phryne grinned, her fingers stretching forward to stroke the light wool against which his hard cock strained.

“Yes, _sir._ ”

She licked her lips and leaned in, inching up the desk until she sat nearly at its edge. Her feet were planted once again on the arms of the chair behind him, but with her hands relatively free, there was not an inch of him that would go neglected— and as far as inches went… well, she hadn’t packed a ruling stick, but Phryne could see for herself that Jack had _many_.

Phryne intended to free the detective’s erection momentarily, so that she could test that theory, but first she wanted to tease him. As if he hadn’t already had enough of that. She smirked then let her mouth fall open.

Gently, she cupped Jack’s balls in her shackled hands, running her thumbs over the wool of his trousers. He inhaled slowly, involuntarily thrusting his hips forward slightly. Then Phryne cocked her head to the side and, slotting her open mouth over the fabric, ran her lips from the covered base of Jack’s cock to the flat tip— already leaking through the layers of material to make a damp spot on his trousers’ placket.

Phryne darted her tongue out to taste what she could, a preview of the pleasure to come. Then the slowly moved back down the length of him, letting her lips take in slight contours of his shape. Inches, indeed…

“That’s enough false leads for one evening, Miss Fisher,” he bit out, and moved to unbutton the obstacle to direct skin contact. Phryne nodded, grinning, and gently knocked his hand aside.

“Allow me, Detective Inspector,” she murmured, making sure that her words vibrated against his covered cock. Then she slowly ran her hands up his trousers’ front, touching and feeling him with full abandon, until her fingers curled around the cold buckle of his belt.


	7. What *Phryne* Learned In Paris...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A blowjob as long as the cock in question.

Jack held his breath as Phryne slid the metal pin from its rectangular frame, first pulling the belt free of its buckle and then its fabric hooks. He’d expected her to leave it in place, and continue on to the buttons of his trousers, but instead she set the strap down on the desk beside her. His lips curved of their own accord, a knowing smirk— Phryne wasn’t ready to forget the leather, nor had she resigned to meek obedience.

After all, her actions might yet merit a harsher form of discipline. Removing his belt was a tacit signal that she was ready and willing to receive further punishment— including but not limited to a good spanking or even the belt’s sweet sting…

Jack’s eye darted to his racket, lying idle by the mantle. Its grid of taut string was giving him ideas— for later, however. At the moment, he and Phryne had their hands full.

Well, _she_ did.

Phryne’s movements were constricted by the silver circles that cuffed her wrists, but she was by no means clumsy. Jack chalked that up to her experience in the circus. Which reminded him— her trick with the hairpin, the one that got her out of a standard set of handcuffs in five seconds flat— she couldn’t be allowed to perform that.

So, as Phryne’s fingers fondled their way up his thigh and cock again, Jack resisted the urge to shiver and instead placed one hand on either side of her head. He ran his fingers through her hair, as fine as Chinese silk and twice as soft, searching for hairpins. Jack found three, dislodged each and slipped them into his right pocket— just as Phryne began to slip buttons free of their holes.

As she unfastened the placket of his sport trousers in agonizing fractions, Phryne gazed unblinking up at Jack— hypnotizing his heart with her irises, coffee-dark; catching his soul in a trap of unbroken eye contact.

One closure, another…

His cock strained, jutting out towards freedom— towards her! That heart-shaped, upturned face, those lips still swollen from his kiss. He needed to feel them, feel her, on his bare skin. He couldn’t take this slow tease…

And at last, Jack was free!

His manhood was hard as a sequoia, and pulsing with need. Springing free from his small clothes, as Phryne shrugged his boxers and trousers together down his thighs, Jack’s cock jutted out in the direction of its liberator briefly before it slapped flat against his bare stomach.

He’d never been so hard in his life, Jack realized, and the pain was on par with the exquisite pleasure of her touch.

“There now, Detective…” Her voice was soft and toffee-sweet when she teased. She was looking at him, but talking to his cock. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

“ _Miss Fisher…_ ” He gritted his teeth, scarcely able to speak. Jack wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. His tool throbbed for Phryne’s touch, but she was just staring at it now, her shackled hands lying open on her wrinkled tennis dress.

***

Phryne’s mouth _watered_ at the sight of Jack’s uncovered manhood, hard and long and shockingly thick. It had sprung free of his small clothes like it possessed a mind— and needs— of its own, before slapping erect against his smooth abdominal muscles. She’d have to pry it from his stomach with both hands, slip her fingers beneath that sticky head— all slick with the precursor to his pleasure.

Absently, she licked her lips, her coy attitude replaced by honest awe. She was entranced at the sight of him, all angry and red, twitching every so often against his lightly flushed abdomen.

There was the vein she’d felt before, pulsing with need and power. At the base was a smattering of wiry, well-trimmed hair— clearly, the detective understood the finer points of masculine grooming. And the head, oh that mushroom like tip: flaring crimson at the edge, flat topped with a leaking slit…

Phryne had never been so hungry in her life, as when she looked her partner’s prick in its solitary eye. She wanted to gorge herself on his hard length, suck and kiss and swirl and lick. And yet, for all her desire, she was frozen— until the detective cupped the back of her head and guided her right to the throbbing core of him.

Phryne nodded when she was inches away, letting the detective know she had the situation under control, although she secretly relished his firm grasp on her. Now, however, it was her turn to take him in hand— and so she did, raising her cuffed wrists to wrap long fingers round his girth.

Jack’s swollen cock was silky to touch, lush like crushed velvet or a flower’s furled lip. But under the skin, he was as hard as steel. Like an iron rod encased in soft satin. And he was hot, burning beneath her fingertips in what surely was an unbearable state of arousal.

Phryne salivated as she stroked him, leisurely up and down. She felt his skin gather beneath her light grip, gradually tightened her fingers, picked up the pace— until that slit started to weep once more.

Then she smiled and leaned closer, to lick the excess clean.

Jack _hissed._

Phryne smothered a grin and instead pressed a kiss atop the head of his cock, letting her plump lips hover over the swollen knob. At the same time, she stretched the fingers of her left hand low to stroke first the base and then Jack’s heavy balls.

Again, Jack’s exerted pressure, his hand gripping the hair at the back of her neck.

Phryne understood, and slowly, agonizingly slowly, took just the tip of him in her mouth.

She sucked lightly, and circled the rim once with her pointed tongue before she pulled back, her lips releasing his cock with a faint _pop_.

Then Phryne flattened her tongue and dragged it sideways down the length of him, following that pulsing vein’s path.

Her right hand was still curled around him, squeezing lightly whenever he gasped or sharply inhaled. With her left hand, she continued to explore lower and deeper, rolling his balls in her palm, tickling his sensitive perineum with fingertips she had first wet.

Jack groaned, throwing his head back as her tongue slid over his sack. He whimpered as she teased the tender patch of skin beyond.

Phryne was so focused on her task, she didn’t react, but inside she was alight with pleasure. Her cheeks were wet with saliva, now, and the salty-sweet taste of Jack’s sweat had mingled with the tangy flavor of his precum.

She squirmed against the cold desk, slicking the surface with anticipation and pleasure. If only her hands weren’t cuffed— she could be touching herself, relieving that pressure!

Jack was a wicked man, however, and he’d known exactly what he was doing when he trussed her up and then didn’t so much as touch her…

But then again, Phryne had been a bad girl; she had broken quite a lot of rules. A part of her knew that this kind of punishment was exactly what she deserved— and craved.

With a needy sigh, Phryne stopped sucking on her partner’s sack. She angled her head to one side, letting her wet mouth hang open in a mirror of her earlier motion.

Phryne mouthed the base of her lover’s cock, letting her lips graze his girth, but never quite settling down or sucking. Her tongue painted a zigzag north, as she mouthed her way back up his cock, stopping only when she reached the top and could enclose his head in her mouth once more.

Again, the sweet and sour taste, the cocktail she’d so craved. He was close, she could tell, close to coming in her pretty mouth. And then she’d swallow each hot spurt of his pleasure…

Phryne sucked on the tip of Jack’s cock for a few long seconds, letting her right hand squeeze his staff in the rhythm of her tongue’s swirling while her left continued to massage his balls and perineum. She made noises— moaned deep in her throat— letting the vibrations wash over him, communicating her own desire even as she stoked his raging fire.

Without warning, Jack’s hand slid up her jaw and joined his left on the nape of her neck. He pushed unsteadily, and Phryne covered her teeth as she found herself sliding deeper— so deep.

Down she went, breathless and off-guard, but loving every inch she gained of him. Phryne took Jack deeper than she’d ever gone with a man, as he declined to ease up the pressure of his hands.

After what felt like an eternity, her lips covered the base of him, rimmed his throbbing root.

Jack’s cock curved against the roof of her mouth. Phryne choked as she felt the tip tease the back of her throat. She was forced to breathe in and out through her nose, and each swallow was a reflex that took him deeper, deeper until she was sure she would die.

But what a death that would be… She would have smiled at the thought, if she could.

Jack’s fingers massaged Phryne’s scalp, soothing and guiding her simultaneously. Phryne moaned, loud, and was met with an answering groan. Her partner cursed, uttering whispers so filthy they could only be for Phryne.

She began to bob her head marginally, constricting her throat carefully around his girth. Jack trembled, his pelvis thrusting involuntarily towards her. The motion pushed his penis further into her open mouth than Phryne had thought possible.

She was sure she would swallow him whole! Tears pricked at her eyes and her lips began to ache with the effort to contain him.

How was he so thick, so wide? She’d slept with a hundred men, and not one of them had possessed such a dick as her detective. It was a beautiful monstrosity, lodged deep in her throat, and Phryne couldn’t survive a moment more of this.

The second she started to push back against him, Jack ceased all pressure and helped Phryne move, up and away from him.

Fresh air— just a breath of air, was all she needed. Then, heaven help her, Phryne wanted to go back for _more._

When at last his throbbing member fell from her sore lips, Phryne gasped. Cool air from the open window soothed her tired throat.

She’d never taken a man so deep, never known she had it in her to survive such an encounter, but as much as it had hurt— had even made her weep— she’d loved it, loved every second of his cock shoved down so deep.

“Phryne?” Jack’s voice was hoarse with hunger, but shot through with concern.

“I’m fine!” She cried, lifting her head to meet his anxious gaze. Jack’s relief was written all over his face. Meanwhile, his cock twitched, as if to ask ‘ _what about me?_ ’

An excellent question— she hadn’t finished _handling_ the situation, had she…

Phryne caught her breath, and started to lean in. She could still taste the salt of their intimacy. Her hunger hadn’t been sated, nor her thirst slaked.

But it would appear that Jack had other ideas…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who said desk sex had to be a quickie? 
> 
> Tune in next week for some more hole-filling...


End file.
